Thornwatch: Foreign Shores
This chronicle follows the events of Thornwatch: The Color of Liberty... Agoraphobia "Charles, I dare say this one looks alive!" A female voice pierced the serenity of the ocean breeze. The gulls here sounded almost human in their screeching. Waves softly crashed against the pile of bodies. The soldier felt a sharp pain in his side just below the ribcage. The weight of the two Canadian shock troopers was doing a number on his spine. "Well you best drop the pike then, dearest, at least if you want to keep him that way." The voice of New England nepotism sung back. The piercing pain increased as the sharpened metal end of the stick stabbed into the soldier's side fell to the ground, twisting the point still inside of him. The pain shoke him awake, his eyes adjusting to the blue sky above. The gentry before him was characteristically over-dressed for the beact. The man with slicked-back hair wore a pale tailcoat with a plaid design; the woman with lengthy waves wore a yellow dress and bussel with a like parasol. "Quit being such a child, Margaret. Pull the staff out of him before it puts a hole in something he'll be needing." The man's hands were placed behind his back; his posture was rigid and his nose turned ever-upward. "Oh don't be such a fuddy-duddy, brother. We're out here searching for survivors. There is no reason I cannot use the tools of the trade for a spot of fun while we do so." The two were almost twins, so much so that the soldier swore they would inexplicably switch places as they spoke, although the conversation remained consistent. "He's awake, dear sister, and aware as well! Aware enough to know he's far from home, though how far will take a bit more coaxing..." The soldier's eyes didn't have time to adjust as the stars came out to blind him, the darkness of night a minute behind. The pair of mountains beyond the sands in front of him seemed a lifetime away and still somehow as close as a leisurely stroll, their white peaks offset by the majestic violet stone they consisted of. Around him was the beach he and countless other fallen soldiers laid on, and yet a short swim away appeared to be a drop into infinity, as if this strange island and the water around it floated amongst the clouds. The solider was slowly regaining his strength; although his legs were still useless, he could twist his torso enough to see around him. As he looked, the woman, now standing where her brother was a second before, beamed a wide smile. "He's stronger than I thought, Charles. He may just be the one to pull this awful place together!" The soldier rolled around to try and spot the brother, who waited behind him, pike in hand. "Only time will tell, sister. For now he'll sleep." A sinister grin too wide to be human stretched across the man's face as he plunged the pike into the soldier's other hip. Stagefright "Wake solider; it is showtime." It was the man's voice. The soldier knew he had blacked out for awhile, but the stab wounds he suffered from his bizarre captors were still bleeding. As his eyes focused and adjusted to the light above, he could see the dome of sky above them lift up and be cast away, revealing the inconceivably gigantic theatre beyond. The miniscule island he laid upon was merely a display, an attraction in some otherworldly exhibit. In the growing audience impossible monsters gathered in seats, each individual large enough to clutch the soldier's entire island in one grotesque palm, claw, or mandible. Onstage on either side of him were floating lands not unlike his own deserted prison. The distance between each 'exhibit' was incalcuable to him, so he could only assume they housed lost souls enduring the same trials he now faced. The gentrified man beside him leaned over to the soldier's ear. "You will not find liberty here soldier," he whispered, "but put on a show worthy of the ideals you purport to fight for and you will find your freedom." The man helped the solider get to his feet and stand. "This I promise you: show us what liberty means and my sister and I will keep you free forever." The man's smile seemed genuine, yet the soldier felt his chest lurch as they locked arms as he stood. In the soldier's mind the scene conjured images of souls signing deals with Satan. "That must be where I am," the solider told himself, "Hell." Stockholm Syndrome "Bienvenue, esteemed guests, to a show both entertaining and enlightening! Welcome to the Mortal Museum, where the Gentry can learn how the 'other half' live!" The Lady Historian had said the same words more than a thousand times, each time with the exact same enthusiasm and showmanship, but today was different. Liberty's Purple Heart beat fast and loud in his chest. Every day for countless years he had performed the show the same way, but today would be different. Today Liberty would shine! The Lord Historian began his part of the exhibition: "Our first exhibit is Faith. Notice how, despite the lashings, she continues to hold out hope of being saved. In fact, if you ask her, she'll tell you she already has been..." Liberty drowned them out. As he waited for the sky dome over him to be removed for his spotlight, he looked around to ensure his dispaly was ready. The grain he had sown was at the peak of the season, it's color a beautiful shade of amber. The fake skyscrapers he spent the past decade carving out of the mountains were chiseled to perfection. The stage was set. Grabbing a buschel of wheat from his fields, Liberty climbed the tower of stone he had made from leftover rock from his mountain carvings. Placed out in the middle of his faux ocean, the tower was impossible to climb unless you practiced on its incline; Liberty knew the proper series of hand and leg holds by heart. After all, he had carved them himself. Looking down he could already see the "shades of tyranny" materializing, invisible forces wearing the garb of soldiers fallen since the dawn of civilization. Today, as every day before it, would be a battle. Only today, Liberty, the veteran soldier with skin turned to copper, would survive by making good on his deal with his Keeper. "This brings us to a popular exhibit of ours, Liberty. Pay attention as Liberty attempts to once again survive a battle against insurmountable odds in a fight for freedom with any..." The Lord Historian's speech was normally longer as he would commentate as Liberty would fight off the shades with the limited ammunition he was given and the jury-rigged weapons he made. But today the Lord Historian paused and smiled, letting silence was over the room. Liberty, his copper skin shined to perfection, stood upon his masoned pedestal, a burning bouquet of grain in his arm as his foes helplessly tried to bring him down but failed at every step, plummeting to the waters below. "Ladies, gentlemen, and otherwise, this, this is Liberty." Claustrophobia The island around him began to crumble as Liberty grew to match the size of his onlookers. With barely a word the crowd stood up as the walls around them trembled from their thunderous applause. The Lord and Lady Historian bowed at Liberty's left and right, each daintly grabbing one of his hands, gently guiding him outside. Creatures were already clearing the aisles of the carnival surrounding the exhibit. "Excellent show!", "Unforgettable!", "A truly mortal phenomenon!" and other such exclamations filled Liberty's ears, but the Lord and Lady remained silent. Passing through the front gates, they stopped before a group of cloaked figures with badges of some kind on their chests. "We are so proud of you." The Lady smiled. It was the first time he'd seen her do so. "We'll keep our end of the deal. After all, a performance like that is worth more if it's once in a lifetime," The Lord said, his voice ever-comforting. "We'll both miss you. Good luck out there!" What happens next can be found in Thornwatch: Copper and Gold... Category:Fiction